


Clickbait

by Spayne



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Fluffy McFluffson, Killing Eve Week - Day One, Soulmates, Tiny reference to panic attacks, fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26154238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spayne/pseuds/Spayne
Summary: “No, I told you already, we are not having sex on a train. Think of something else.”Or, how Eve and Villanelle pass the time for eight hours on a train from London to GlasgowFor day 1 of Killing Eve Week - Soulmates
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 99
Kudos: 249
Collections: Killing Eve Week 2020





	Clickbait

**Author's Note:**

> Did someone say “Jesus Christ, Spayne, enough with the misery already, can’t you dish up some ridiculous fluff for once?” 
> 
> ..........well, for me Killing Eve Week will solely be about throwing Villanelle versions of Eve who just want to snuggle. 
> 
> God knows I've put her through her paces lately, this week is about letting the poor girl be happy.
> 
> Having literally just said that - TW - for the briefest of hints at panic attacks

This trip was a shitty idea. 

You sort of knew it was at the time but when she’s all childlike joy and delight it’s really easy to ignore the parts of you which might raise perfectly valid objections. There is another aspect to that, it is as simple as you just like her being happy. It's nice and it makes you smile. 

So when she suggested this you didn't have the heart to say no.

Four month anniversary? Sure, that’s a thing right?

Mini break? Great idea!

Somewhere with nice memories from your history? The place where you jointly murdered a woman - perfect.

The Caledonian Sleeper? Excellent suggestion! It’s sure to be as luxurious as you imagine the Orient Express would have been in the twenties.

As it turns out, four month anniversaries are not a thing, mini breaks mean you spend most of the holiday travelling, BBC weather informed you Glasgow is under 5 inches of water at present and the Caledonian Sleeper better resembles her prison cell in Russia. Or so she says.

She is probably right. The cabin looks like someone spend a lot of money to recreate a youth hostel from the sixties. Although you grudgingly accept that the USB chargers near the bed are useful.

But all in all this was a time when you should have let your cynicism trump her joy. 

The last time you looked at your phone it was 2.17am. You thought that the occasional tilt of the train would help with sleep. It hasn't. You might have your eyes closed but the light from her iPad and the incessant padding of her fingers on the screen keep you from sleep.

You open your eyes to look at her, you are ready to say something sharp about her keeping you up but she looks....she looks lovely. It’s nice being able to look. Her face scrubbed of make up, her hair up and away from her face. It’s just...nice. 

What you’ve been most surprised by though is that it’s actually even better to let her catch you looking. You had to hide so much of what you felt before that she’s always so touched by your attention so being able to give her what she wants for once feels good. 

So when she notices that you’re starring at her now, she half smiles and she touches her hair a little self consciously. Your heart flutters in your chest.  She makes you such a sap. You thought you’d hate it, you don’t.

“Did I wake you?” She asks

“No.” You lie.

She pulls a face. “You were always a bad liar.”

You smile and stretch slightly. Her eyes track the movement. You like it when she watches you too.

She puts the iPad down and shuffles closer.

“We could always-“

“No.”

“Why? I’ll even do all the work.”

“Oh please. You love doing the work. And more importantly, no, I told you already, we are not having sex on a train. Think of something else.”

This is the same conversation you had two hours ago. 

“It’s got a bed, we could pretend it’s a hotel?”

“Except it’s still a train, and we’re not having sex on a train.”

“Urgh. I hate you. You’re no fun.” She flops onto her back and reaches over to retrieve her iPad from the floor.

“Why don’t you just lay down and try and go to sleep? I’ll cuddle you if you like.” You say it as though it’s a chore, it really isn’t.

She doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“The window won’t open.”

Following her mind can be difficult at the best of times, so at god knows what time in the morning it is near impossible.

“Ok?”

“What if I wake up and need....to get outside.” Her voice is quieter than even the normally slightly hushed tones she saves for conversations after midnight.

Fuck. You hadn’t even thought. You should have checked. What an asshole.

You’ve only seen it twice but when you pushed for more she haltingly revealed that it’s a fairly regular occurrence. She’ll wake dripping in sweat and clawing oxygen into her lungs. She’ll be ok after a while, but she needs air, the sash window in your bedroom was enough once, the balcony in her flat was better.

This cabin has a large window that can not be opened. 

You feel terrible.

Fuck.

You shift until you are sitting up next to her, and reach out to capture her hand in yours.

“Ok. So let’s stay up then.” 

She gives another almost smile and squeezes your hand. “It’s ok, you sleep. I’ll turn the brightness down.”

“No, it’s fine. It’ll be fun. What should we do?” You ask her

She thinks for a minute.

“A quiz?”

Urgh. No. Not again.

You must pull a face.

“You just didn’t like the last one because it said you were Serena.” 

That’s right. You are a woman in your forties who does Buzzfeed clickbait quizzes about which Gossip Girl character you are whilst on a mini break with your twenty-something girlfriend. This is who you are now.   
  


But you are definitely not Serena. 

“I’m not Serena.” You tell her.

Now it’s her turn to pull a face. 

“Ok, ok that one was shit. Obviously. It was way off base, it said I was Chuck so....” she trails off.

“I mean, you kind of are Chuck.”

It’s the most offended you think you’ve ever seen her and she snatches her hand away from yours.

She sniffs haughtily at you. “I don’t have the words to respond to that so I’m going to ignore it. Let’s do a different quiz”

You huff out a put upon sigh.

“Fine, fine. What’s the next one?”

She grins. You already know you won’t like the answer.

“‘Have you already found your soulmate?’”

You sigh inwardly. Of course it is.

“Next.”

“Oh come on, play with me? Please?”

“We could have sex?”

She perks up at that. “Really?”

“No.”

“You are the worst. Do the quiz with me? Please?”

It’s the childlike enthusiasm again. Gets you every time.

“Fine.”

She hisses out a yes and snuggles down into the covers. You refuse to find it cute.

“Ok, so we have to mark down all the questions about each other which we know the answer to, then when we get them all right we’ll know for certain.”

How are you dating this overgrown fourteen year old?

“I’ll go first.”

She starts off quickly, there’s a smug little flourish as she checks things off, then it slows, there’s more scrolling, fewer ticks. 

She’s frowning. More frowning. 

Jesus, what are these questions? Ok, so you’ve only been together for four months but it’s been an intense four months, and there has been all the seemingly endless watching and chasing before that. A few personality questions can’t be that hard. 

Surely.

She turns off the iPad suddenly.

“This was a stupid game. Let’s do something else.”

“What? Why? How many could you answer?”

She sulks. It’s not cute. Ok. It’s a tiny bit cute. What? It is.

“Tell me, don’t be a sore loser.”

She looks indignant.

“27.” She grudging admits.

“Ok? Out of?”

More sulking. You pinch lightly at the skin on her hip.

“90.”

The laugh escapes you loudly and without warning.

“Thats shit! You must literally never listen to anything I tell you.”

She is still really frowning.

You laugh again.

“Shut up. You try it then.”

It can’t be that hard.

“Fine. Give it here.”

She passes you the iPad and you refresh the page.

Ok. So.

Name. Easy. Colour eyes and hair. Done and done. City she was born in? Generic Russian village...? You give yourself a point anyway because you are sure you would have know that once.

There are questions about food and weirdly some about washing habits, both categories are fine and easy.

You’re going to blow her 27 out of the water.

Political party? Next. Sports team? Umm. Number of sexual partners? Does she even know that? Does she still have her wisdom teeth? What?

These questions are stupid.

If she could have dinner with anyone alive or dead who would it be? You? Or is that too smug?

It goes on like that.

When you reach the end you imagine that your frown is deeper than hers was.

You press the submit button. 

18? Fuck off. This is a stupid game.

“You’re right this quiz is stupid.” You tell her and hand her back the iPad.

She takes it but turns it on again to look at your score.

“18? Really? Thats all you could answer? What happened to I want to know everything?”

You look over to see she looks genuinely crushed. Jesus. You were annoyed to lose. You’d be the same if she’d beaten you at a ‘test your knowledge of Friends’ quiz, but she actually looks upset.

“Hey? It’s just a stupid quiz.”

She doesn’t say anything for a while.

“We don’t really know anything about each other. We argue all the time. I’ve told you that I hate you more times than I’ve told you that I love you.”

She pauses and you can see her eyes are watery for just a moment before she artfully blinks them away.

“This is never going to work out, is it?”

Fuck. Fucking quizzes. More than that though, fuck you for being a dick to her for so long that losing a stupid soulmates quiz is enough to make her question the future of your relationship.  


  
You think of her endless whispered apologies peppered amongst kisses to the scar on your shoulder blade, and how you've never offered her any thing similar. Not for the scar on her stomach, or for all the times you preferred to treat her like she had no emotions, as though your words didn't cut into skin in just the same way as the knife, as if you didn't see how plainly they did. 

If this stupid quiz is enough to make her think that this has no future, then a lot of that is your own doing.

You shuffle down on the bed and lean over to pull her onto her side so she’s laying facing you and put a hand on her cheek.

“It’s just a memory test. We’ve got time to learn all those details. That’s kind of the whole point. We already know the big stuff. That’s what matters.”

“But we’re always arguing-“

“We bicker and it’s fun sometimes. Don’t you think?” You want to sound reassuring but you think it probably comes off a little hesitant.

She glances around still reluctant to meet your gaze, but she nods slightly.

She’s got a hand fisted in the scratchy duvet cover, you reach out and hold it in yours.

“I love you.” You tell her. It’s the first time you’ve said it, but it’s been there so long now that it feels completely normal to tell her.

She draws your hand up toward her lips and kisses your intertwined fingers.

“If you want all those stupid details from the quiz, you’ve got forever to ask me.” You tell her.

She sort of smiles before turning onto her back.

“I guess we aren’t soul mates then.” She says sulkily

“Fuck Buzzfeed.” You respond.

She laughs, but you know the insecurity remains.

“Come here, I want to try something.” 

She arches an elegant eyebrow.

“Im still not having sex on a train, pervert.”

She laughs lightly.

“Get your phone. Open notes. Ok. So, write down how you’d kill me.”

“Seriously?” She asks, there’s doubt in her voice but you can hear that you’be piqued her interest.

“Yeah, just do it. I’ll do the same.”

She looks at you for a moment, then busily gets typing. 

You don’t even need to think about it. 

A shared bed. Amazing sex. Knife to the heart whilst holding her gaze the whole time.

She’s still writing. 

When you played this with Niko, the focus was getting away with it. If you killed her it would be such an intimate thing that you’d never want to shut it away, you could never pretend it hadn’t happened. It wouldn’t be like Paris. Not now. Not after everything.

“Done.” She announces.

“Ok, so let’s swap.”

She passes you her phone. You read it and grin. She writes with such elegance, almost the same murder as yours but expressed in beautiful, loving prose all typed out in an absurdly standard font. 

When you turn to her she’s already staring at you. She doesn’t bother to hide the shine in her eyes this time. 

This means more to her than the words you offered her a moment ago. She feels known. You get it. You feel it too.

You smile at her, before pulling her closer and pressing your lips to her ear to whisper;  “Soulmates after all then, I guess.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Research demanded that I do this quiz myself. I was caught in the act. The teasing was merciless.
> 
> 2\. Long time readers may also be interested to add the Caledonian Sleeper to the ever growing list of places I have refused to have sex. 
> 
> 3\. In other less inappropriate news; I have outed myself on twitter. Its @spayne_fic but as with all things I would urge you to lower your expectations of what you might find there. However low you may think they are, there is always a lower place, that's where I'm pitching.
> 
> 4\. Finally, I also did the Gossip Girl quiz. I am not Dan. (With the notable exception of that weird story line where he fell in love with Blair) Fuck Buzzfeed.


End file.
